I can't begin to thank you guys for the reviews and favourites! I never expected such a positive response to this silly little story. You're all awesome, and I hope you continue to enjoy my work.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This is all still for you, Reese! Hope things start looking up for you, and that this story keeps cheering you up somewhat.

09/28/10 4:35 - Well played, pet

09/28/10 4:38 - How did you get this number?

09/28/10 4:40 – I could call up the nice old bloke from Campus Security and report them missing

09/28/10 4:41 – What, your pride and reputation?

09/28/10 4:43 – I want the drives back Arthur

09/28/10 4:44 – Of course. When I'm done with them, they're all yours.

09/28/10 4:47 – Stop toying with me

09/28/10 4:48 – Sucks, doesn't it? Seriously, how did you get this number? I change it after every job.

Eames didn't reply after that message, and Arthur was fairly alright with that. However, that embarrassing sense of giddiness swept over him as he leaned back in his chair and reviewed the exchange of text messages. The forger was probably cursing up a storm by now. Much to his credit, it had only taken him a couple of hours to realize he had been robbed of the information. It was going to be an interesting day tomorrow; maybe he should just avoid going to class altogether. That would constitute as quitting while he was ahead, right?

The information was proving to be invaluable. Not only were the financial plans as shoddy and full of holes as their client had assumed, but the extra memory stick offered everything he needed to know about Eames' job. Contracts. Plans. Schedules. He had to admit the forger was pretty damn organized when he put effort into it. Yet it felt almost felt unsporting to use this to his advantage. Like Eames had said, it was just business. He wouldn't feel bad about stealing information from anyone else, since it was crucial to the job. Yet, the personal aspect of it felt like an inevitable risk.

Arthur wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he knew that pick pocketing him had been a last minute thought. The kiss had most definitely been without ulterior motive until the opportunity dawned on him. And some irritating shred of conscience in him regretted how it must have looked. Eames was likely more furious about being taken advantage of than the actual theft.

It was something that he couldn't possibly dwell on, though. Hopefully the forger would understand. They had been playing a rather tense game of Cat and Mouse until now, anyway, and this was just Arthur upping the ante. Besides, he was merely showing the other man that he ranked somewhere below work, no mater how maddeningly tempting he was.

Continuing to fish through the electronic files, Arthur attempted to put the issue far from his mind. How could he allow himself to get distracted when he had a virtual goldmine in front of him? What had been their only disadvantage was now gone. Arthur knew exactly what Eames was up to, and even if he shifted plans at the last minute, there was no way he was going to avoid them. They already knew how he worked to begin with, even if this plan before him had been a massive curveball.

Teaching the subject the art of forging? Genius. Any skilled extractor could get past the aggressive projections of a trained subconscious, but to be trained to recognize a dream and to fake identities within that dream could have incredible advantages. The subject must have some great potential already if Eames was even willing to consider taking a pupil. Forgers were rare in the business, so competition was scarce. But the university president likely had no plans other than to defend himself.

Arthur jumped when there was a knock on the door, and turned in his chair. "Yes?" He heard the electronic lock shift as it recognized the card key, and watched as the door cracked. He closed some of the documents on the screen as Mal's head popped in.

"You alright, Arthur?" Checking up on him, to make sure he didn't collapse in starvation or exhaustion. When he nodded, she stepped into the room. The woman paused as she spied a jacket on the floor, which looked like a pinpoint of chaos in his otherwise clean hotel room. Mal's eyebrows furrowed a little, and she stooped to pick it up. "You're distracted." It was not a question, but a statement. They knew him far too well.

"Just occupied with work." Arthur lied, turning back to his laptop and looking over some harmless files that he had already seen several times. "How are managing with the building?"

Mal had sensed it. He was trying to avoid her gentle prying, and wasn't doing an excellent job of hiding it. He couldn't act. She stepped over, and Arthur could feel her curious smile as she placed an arm over his shoulder. "Maybe you're working a little too hard." Her voice was gentle; the tone she always used when trying to coax the young man to take a break. "You've been quiet since this job started. Moreso than usual, too."

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. He took his jacket from her and folded it absently in his lap. "It's been difficult, is all." He allowed Mal to lean against the desk and straighten his hair, which he hadn't bothered to fix since earlier that afternoon. Luckily, she didn't directly ask just why he was so ruffled.

"Talk to me." She was trying to coax him further. An immense feeling of guilt stirred in Arthur's chest, and he sank into his chair a little. "I know when something's wrong, Arthur. You're not eating, or sleeping. Dare I even mention the mood swings? When you're not over the moon, you're fuming."

Arthur managed a smile, but he kept staring blankly at his computer screen. "Thanks. I feel better already."

Laughing gently, Mal turned his head to make him look at her. "Tell me what's bothering you, because I'm getting worried."

Oh God, More guilt. The young point man sighed and leaned against the hand now resting on his cheek. "It's no big deal, Mal. This job is just getting harder every day, and I'm just trying to work it out."

"But you love a challenge." she pressed softly.

She had to know sooner or later. Preferably the former, because if Mal found out at the last minute who they were working against, she would be even angrier. Arthur let out a soft sigh.

"We have someone working against us." He was going to be a vague as possible at first, possibly just out of cowardice. Mal didn't look very concerned, however. At least not about that hurdle.

"You're certainly not new to working with minds trained by extractors. Why would you be worried about that?"

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat and moved away, getting to his feet. Highly out of character, he threw his folded jacket into a rumpled heap on the bed. He felt angry, but he had nowhere to direct it. It was nobody's fault. It was just a purely frustrating situation. He avoided her gaze, but knew she was watching him.

"It's not that. He's got a forger - teaching him - working at the school." Arthur's throat damn near closed before he could choke out another word. And suddenly the room felt ten degrees colder. And yet he felt the most intense heat boring into his back, as Mal was silent for a few terrifying seconds.

"Please don't tell me," There was far more tension in her voice than pleading, but both tones were present. Arthur deflated as he heard her straighten up and step over.

"It's him." It was all Arthur could manage at that very moment. He turned to look at Mal, who looked livid. He could, however, see her conscious attempt to stay calm and reasonable.

"Has he seen you?"

Arthur ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. "Mal, it's okay." he tried to tell her, although the smoldering in her eyes didn't offer much hope that she would believe that for a second. "We talked. There's no hard feelings, about now or… last time." His voice faded in strength and volume as he spoke. Mal looked anything but convinced.

"You told Dom, didn't you?" She sounded almost venomous. Damn him. Cobb was an excellent liar except when it came to his wife. The stress of keeping it from her had been so obvious.

"Look, I didn't want you to be upset if we could avoid it."

"You lied to me."

"I did no such thing, and you know it!"

Their voices were beginning to rise ever so slightly. This was the path that Arthur had been trying to avoid. Mal wouldn't listen to reason when it came to this. To Eames. The issue had never been resolved after she assaulted the forger in a rage. She was just far too protective of the point man, although he was an intelligent, capable adult. And, since the argument after the confrontation last year, nobody ever dared bring it up again. And, obviously, there was a severe lack of closure on the issue if they were both growing angry so quickly.

"Why would you even bother talking to him, Arthur? He's trash. Absolute fucking trash."

For a moment, Arthur's vision whited out. He feared it would be one of those terrible crime show clichés where someone loses awareness and 'wakes up' washing blood off their hands. Thankfully, this was not that kind of situation. He found himself taking a deep breath, but it was shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, as well, trying desperately to calm himself. He counted to ten.

Nope. Still wanted to throw a lamp at her.

Arthur snatched up his jacket with more force than necessary. When Mal asked, quite irritably, where he was going, he made a calm suggestion that she was better off fornicating with herself than prying into his business. He brushed past her, pocketed his phone and two flash drives, and stormed out. She might have tried to stop him. It all blurred together by that point. All he really knew was that yelling was ringing in his ears as he retreated down the hallway. By the time he reached the elevator, he had to lean against the mirrored wall in fear of collapsing.

How he remembered where to go would forever be a mystery. But he crossed the city in a daze, somehow knowing what address to tell the taxi driver. Arthur felt drained, yet he was buzzing with adrenaline. As an independent man, he knew that he had been irrationally upset with Mal's attempts to 'help'. This had been the problem last time. Having someone else trying to guide his life in the slightest sparked instant rage in him. It was the only thing that stressed his friendship with Mal. Several blocks away, he was able to calm down enough to feel bad. Maybe he should go back. Maybe she was right.

No. Fuck them. He was still too offended to go back, and Mal would probably be out of control. She had no right to insult Eames like that. Yes, he was a tramp. A liar. The most intolerable ass in existence. You wouldn't trust your goldfish with him, because he'd either sell or accidentally kill it. He was obnoxious, shameless, selfish and deceitful. Tasteless. Outrageous. Bewitching. Impossible. Fucking magnetic. Eames was everything that was wrong with mankind.

But Arthur wasn't going to hear it from someone else.

09/28/10 5:36 – You can have your stupid drives back. I'm bringing them over now.

09/28/10 5:37 – Can't trust you in my flat unless you agree to a strip search before you leave

Arthur gritted his teeth. Presumptuous bastard. Yet, he couldn't stop himself.

09/28/10 5:39 – Not without wine.

09/28/10 5:40 – Please. I can do better than a bottle of merlot, darling